


just breathe

by aikachans



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, spy team au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 17:45:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13253394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aikachans/pseuds/aikachans
Summary: However, Hayami’s breath locks itself in her throat. She can’t release it. She tries to will herself into empty calmness again, but she can’t. All she can see against her closed eyelids, like a horror picture, is Maehara barely dodging the bullets, fired by the gunman she had missed – who she had missed – before being ripped through the side with a bullet, landing in a pile among the broken glass of the shattered window. She could still see it through the lens of her scope and her fingers were tightening around the sniper rifle, trying not to shake–“Hayami.”





	just breathe

The bullet shells clatter against the metal table. The sound grates on her nerves. She can’t think. The stench of blood in the room is too pungent. It’s suffocating her–

Hayami shoves another bullet in place, trying to focus on something else.

The team is scattered over the room, all in their own states of gloom. It's not helping Hayami's mood.

Her eyes quickly flit around the room, absorbing the darkness lingering in the atmosphere. Karma is sitting on the ground, back flush against the wall, perplexed brow darkening his eyes. His usual smirk has vanished from sight. That’s never a good sign.

Okuda and Nagisa are beside him, expressions similar in worry for their friend. Okuda tentatively reaches out a hand to cup her fingers around Karma's hand. Surprisingly, Karma does not flinch, remaining passive. Nagisa busies himself with checking his knives, staring deep into the reflective surfaces of the blades as if there is something hidden in them.

Terasaka’s group are usually the loudest, but now, in the shadow of failure, even their voices are hushed. Itona remains silent. Hazama reads. Muramatsu is trying to blink away reality. Yoshida and Terasaka are discussing transportation plans.  _Anywhere’s better than this hell hole_ , Terasaka is muttering, and Hayami cannot agree more.

And of course, the area she is desperately trying to avoid looking at is where Okano is, on the ground, balanced on her heels. Maehara’s head is in her lap. Okano’s eyes search his face, trying to latch onto any sliver of hope that comes her way. Maehara lies there, bandage around his head soaked with blood, the crimson stark against his pale skin and bright locks. Isogai is treating the wound at his side diligently, his bottom lip snagged between his teeth – the only sign of his worry.

A flutter of Maehara’s eyelashes allows Okano to release a barely audible sigh. She and Isogai are finally breathing again.

However, Hayami’s breath locks itself in her throat. She can’t release it. She tries to will herself into empty calmness again, but she can’t. All she can see against her closed eyelids, like a horror picture, is Maehara barely dodging the bullets, fired by the gunman she had missed – who  _she_  had  _missed_  – before being ripped through the side with a bullet, landing in a pile among the broken glass of the shattered window. She could still see it through the lens of her scope and her fingers were tightening around the sniper rifle, trying not to shake–

“Hayami.”

That one word saves her. No, that’s not accurate. Rather, it’s the voice that saves her. She feels a little breath escape into her lungs and she blinks, realizing that her eyes had been boring into the table, out of focus, away from reality.

She gains her composure again and gives a quick, wary look to the man beside her. His dark bangs are shielding his eyes, their tips tinged with sweat. There are smudges of gunpowder on his cheeks, and his gear is torn here and there. She knows she looks the same, but she hasn’t bothered revitalizing herself. She stares down at the sniper rifle in her arms.

“Hayami,” Chiba repeats, voice deep.

“What?” she snaps.

“It’s not your fault. Stop it.”

The harshness of his words are not helpful. She continues examining the rifle, the only familiar thing to her in this environment. But then she remembers her failure in using this familiar item and she sets it down.

She can sense Chiba stepping closer to her. She twitches her head to the side, not glancing up, only able to see his shoulders. “I missed,” she finally says, low and firm.

“It happens.”

Her voice is flat. “It shouldn’t have.”

“Hayami, there’s no point in beating yourself up about it. Especially when you’re hurt yourself.”

She stiffens at that, and glances at him in surprise. He’s only a few inches away and she feels his fingers curl around her wrist, tugging her hand away from the rifle. He brings it up to eye level and she finally notices the cuts she received from toiling around with that adversary with a pocketknife. She has been so worked up that she hadn’t noticed. The adrenaline that had been surging through her veins finally slows, and the stabbing pain of an open wound starts to seep into her nerves, and she closes her fingers in a fist, attempting to stop their trembling.

Chiba stays quiet and pulls out bandages, and quickly wraps up her wounds. She peers over his shoulder again and watches Maehara, still in a state of unconsciousness.

“Hayami–” Chiba doesn’t sound like he’s scolding her, but she speaks anyway.

“We’re a team. We look out for each other. And I failed to do that.”

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Chiba insists, chin tilting down to face her. She looks for any sign on emotion on his face, but as usual, his bangs obscure anything from scrutiny. “We were outnumbered.”

“The mission was a failure. You can’t deny that.”

“No, I’m not and I won’t. But how can we correct this if we’re sitting around, blaming ourselves?” Hayami turns her head away, but realizes that Chiba is still clinging onto her hand. She looks at the finished bandages and tries to pry his fingers away.

“Thank you,” she says monotonously, having said these words too many times to him before. He continues to hold her hand and puts his other hand around hers, and she can feel the tremor in her hand slowly subsiding at the sensation. She wonders how Chiba can do it. Every time.

“Hayami, I’m here for you, remember? I know what it’s like to miss. We’re in the same boat. Always have been.”

Hayami just nods after a moment, and then curls her own fingers around Chiba's, drawing herself closer to him, inch by inch, until his arms are hovering around her small frame in a sort-of hug. She presses her forehead to his shoulder and sighs out a long, quiet breath through her nose, shutting her eyes, the darkness behind her eyelids a different darkness than the one around her right now; it's natural and comforting, closing her off from the world. The only thing she can feel is Chiba's warmth right beside her.


End file.
